


First Times

by technocrusade



Series: dreamnoblade galore by technocrusade [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Battle, Blood, Blood and Injury, Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gods, Immortal Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Injury, Light Angst, Long-Haired Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Beta Read, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, War, cottagecore dreamnoblade pog, not for long, only a bit but its still there, that sounds so ominous, the angst is barely there dont worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technocrusade/pseuds/technocrusade
Summary: “You are a mortal, and I a god.” Dream’s voice is firm and commanding and it’s then that they remember that while the warrior is of twenty-one years of age, the young god is of twenty-one decades. “You are human, and under trauma you will scar, disfigure and discolor; the evidence of the worst will barely fade over the span of your lifetime. I am a deity, and even with a thousand wounds I will not crumble; I have centuries to heal and a body that allows no blemish to persist. You, however, do not.”I don’t want you to be marked with the throes of combat that has bound us so.It remains unsaid.I want you to be marked with Euphrosyne’s gift, to bask in a joy that comes not from endless victories in war. I want you to burn of love instead of Greek fire, to bleed of compassion instead of crimson.(otherwise known as: Dream is the god of victory and Technoblade is his vassal.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: dreamnoblade galore by technocrusade [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190198
Comments: 46
Kudos: 440





	First Times

_It’s the first time Dream sees Techno._

The young god had been flitting about the raging battlefield in curiosity, unfazed by the cacophony of battle cries and clanking metal as both armies charge towards each other. Helios brings the sun to the sky and casts a spotlight on the wide expanse of the clearing soon to be bathed in the consequences of conflict, the pleasant heat igniting the flame of burning envy in Dream’s throat that he can never seem to swallow down. Raised swords sparkle as they’re illuminated, reflecting in the glint in his greedy eyes. Oh, how he longs to feel the weight of an axe in hand, to feel the responsibility to keep his life. Yet instead of weapons and mortality he carries the weight of victory in his hands, he carries the responsibility of bestowing triumph upon the worthy. Only under the guise of his duty would he find leisure and the fragments of who he wanted to be.

He had such a wondrous gift, but it was never for him to cherish. No, it was to give to the people. Perhaps if he were younger, he would have been envious; jealousy always tends to rear its ugly green head whenever possible, after all. Thankfully he finds nothing to yearn in the hypocrisy of humanity, in how fickle and fragile they are. Then again, it’s not like gods have it any better, not when he was merely a symbol of power, not when he was simply a valuable token to have in one’s favor. Perhaps if he were older, he would have resented this; too much of this would be sure to make someone crack eventually. Instead, he’s too young to have much experience yet too old to hold a grudge. And so, he remains content in what little he is allowed to have.

Dream had always been one for danger, flitting about the carnage on nimble feet and agile limbs meant to dodge stray arrows and overcommitted swings. Had Zeus seen him he would be berated for his recklessness, but for now he would be free to partake in the zephyrs of chaos circling him. Had Athena seen him he would be lectured on his foolishness, but for now he would be free to be childish and naïve in the safety of his immortality. Had Aphrodite seen him he would be chastised for his lack of grace, but for now he would be free to dissolve in a fit of raucous wheezing in his sheer glee. It was all he could do to ease the longing in his core, after all.

He had never liked the idea of being a god, in all its stuffy formalities and etiquette. He had never liked the idea of being stuck in a throne all day, with watching mortals as his only pastime. He may have been raised in the grandest halls of Olympus, but his heart lies in the thrill of the hunt and the wilderness. He may have been taught of poise and eloquence, but he had only translated that into the throes of combat and the craftiness of a silver tongue. He may have been taught of manners and pleasantries, but he forgoes them in favor of crass taunts and subtle boasting. He didn’t really hate it, per se. He would still find himself lost in the timeless literature of their spacious libraries, still find himself smiling as he tends to Demeter’s gardens. He would still find himself enjoying the specialties of the Nine Muses and the ever so tasteful meals of ambrosia and nectar. He just didn’t necessarily like being there all the time, being trapped and resigned to a particular fate.

It’s not like he couldn’t leave either, he just never had a reason to. Not until now, at least.

He finds this particular warrior standing out from the fray in more ways than one. He stands tall and proud, with confidence in his gait and sureness in the way he carries himself. His outfit is the telltale symbol of royalty and yet his behavior is positively animalistic, hacking into the enemy with little to no regard for how blood taints his appearance and sinks into his skin with the weight of the sin of murder. It almost looks like the god of war himself had blessed him, his aura imposing even to his own allies yet Dream knows more than anyone that Ares had not descended into the commotion this time. It is then that he decides that if anyone is worthy of his power, it would be the untamed beast with raw power just waiting to be honed by the right person into a blade that would mercilessly cut down the adversary.

The golden blessing of victory looks like it’s right at home when it sinks into his being.

Dream should be intimidated, really. Even if he was immortal, he wasn’t invincible. Sure, he most likely couldn’t be seen, but it doesn’t mean he’s intangible. Many a time he had been grazed by the violence of war, and many more such instances are inevitable if he insists on dancing with the death so potent in his workplace. He also could’ve inadvertently set up a rampage that he could get caught in, or be damaged while he was forced to stay still during the process of blessing. Then again, it’s not like the risk doesn’t send a thrill up his spine. It only makes sense that instead of the fear that should settle into his bones, he only gets pure ecstasy running in his veins.

It had been a while since a mortal used his power to its full potential.

Perhaps Dream had minor sadism buried in the depths of complex desires, because he thrives off the way the warrior handles the newfound strength. He’s so very clearly a natural at what he does, because he stabs and slashes like it’s all he’s ever done in his entire life. He parries and blocks and dodges like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He tears through the enemy lines and takes their dismantled and frayed threads to weave the tapestry depicting his victory. There’s an artistic value to the way he moves, no matter how morbid the painting may be. It’s a sick and twisted elegant dance of sorts, and Dream is the enthusiastic voyeur to it.

For once in his decidedly long life, he gets drunk on the display of prowess he had created. The man had taken his blessing and honed it to its absolute best, flawlessly using the power like it’s his own. He loves it, he loves the feeling of winning not just the fight but also the search for a worthy vassal. It’s intoxicating, like alcohol poisoning his cohesive thinking and leaving him only to crave for more of the sensation of absolutely dominating the opposition. Now that he’s found accomplishment, he doesn’t want to lose it.

Thankfully, this isn’t the last time Dream will see Techno.

Far from that, actually. He keeps seeing the man throughout the war, clearly a valuable fighter with how he seems to be there in almost all major clashes and minor skirmishes alike. He keeps seeing the paradox of the mask of a beast on such regal attire, the irony not lost on him and his literacy; he keeps hearing whispers of the so-called Blood God, supposedly undefeated even through hundreds of consecutive battles. He steals glances, unable to keep his eyes away from the other for too long. He stares unabashedly, curious and scrutinizing like he’s trying to decipher why exactly he’s so captivated by this mysterious figure.

Dream doesn’t know much about him beyond how adept he is at combat. He doesn’t know of his real name, only the rather ominous moniker given to him by fearful foes. He doesn’t know of his history nor his aspirations. He doesn’t know what kind of person he is, what kind of life he lives, or what brings him here in such a strife-filled life. He doesn’t even know what he looks like under that mask, or what he sounds like beyond the occasional pained grunts when scathed. He doesn’t know much at all, and it’s almost maddening.

He does know, however, that his fingers tipped with gold and lined with the promise of success itch to curl around the handle of his axe and the hilt of his sword. They itch to leave traces of his blessing on strong hands wielding the trust of a young god and carrying it into battle. And so, he lets them.

For the first time, the tendrils of temptation coil around his bleeding heart to squeeze more out of it. He’s young, and fragile and weak to the onslaught of the human hindrances called emotions and it’s really no surprise that he indulges in such impulsive tendencies. He’s a young god who doesn’t quite know just how much he has to lose, and so he gambles with fate. He effortlessly weaves his way through the idle crowd as it slowly stirs in preparation as dawn marks both a new day and a new massacre, easily picking out the head of pink hair in the distance and navigating towards it.

Without much prerequisite, he approaches from behind to put his hand on the other’s right arm and draws the faintest sparkles on old scars lining down to his wrist where Dream’s fingers wrap firmly. It feels just right, the way his slender hand just slots into place like it’s meant to be there. Before he can regret it or think too much about it, he lifts his feet off the ground and jumps onto the man’s back. His other arm comes up to wrap around the neck and secure himself as he peers over his warrior’s shoulder, a pleased sigh bubbling out to tickle pointed ears.

Dream almost swears on his honor that the other shivers and tenses up at this.

He is _technically_ forced to latch on lest the connection abruptly cuts and he stops sharing his power, and it’s as inconvenient as it sounds. He doesn’t exactly want to stand still and be dragged around like a ragdoll; it isn’t fun and he has the experience to prove it. Recently he’s discovered that staying afloat is much easier both in stability and avoiding too much contact. Yeah, he doesn’t really need to hug anyone for this, but he does it for this man anyway. Perhaps it’s the need to feed more of his assets into his desire to be carried out by someone else, perhaps it’s from being touch starved with centuries of being around deities millennia older than him, perhaps it’s from another impulsive decision that his clouded mind makes, perhaps he doesn’t really know anymore.

He doesn’t really know, but it’s quite alright. Dream feels at home right where he is.

  
-

  
_It’s the first time Dream talks to Techno._

He had never stayed around for long after the fight has ended, for himself or for anyone. There was always another encounter, another opportunity to find a competent soldier, another job for him to do. Besides, most of the humans he came across were fleeting. He almost never ran into them again, not because he was purposefully avoiding them but because there were just other places to be. It only makes sense he’d stay to investigate such an anomaly, to keep his eye on who might be recorded as a legend in history books. It only makes sense he’s curious about the combatant that had enchanted him so, that had piqued his interest with how untouchable he seems even without godliness gracing him in any way.

That, and he’s currently bleeding out from an open wound.

It wasn’t his fault, really. There was always the inherent risk of injury that came with the job, and his own inability to stay far away from the strife unless necessary only enhanced that. It only made sense that there would be instances where he would get hurt, and this was one of them. Still, it was quite troublesome. If he didn’t tend to it immediately, it could hinder him in the future and possibly even leave him in greater peril. However, he also couldn’t treat it easily on his own and he knows more than anything that approaching one of the elder gods for assistance would only raise more questions; with those questions came the inevitable lecture trying to tell him how to do his own job.

“Do you, uh…” A deep baritone fills the comfortable silence, and it takes a while for Dream to realize that it’s coming from his warrior. He tilts his head in confusion before he scans the area. There’s no one else around them right now in the grassy plains, most driven away by the encroaching Nyx and the fleeing Hemera. “… do you need me to wrap that up for you?”

“Are you talking to me?”

“Who else is here?” This time, the man turns to face in his direction. Dream would be lying if he didn’t freeze up at the sight of crimson eyes piercing straight through his soul beneath the bare skull. He would probably have stayed that way if not for the more pressing matter at hand.

“Wait.” He pauses, looking up through the carved-out calcium eye sockets in hopes of meeting the other’s gaze. Would it be rude to stare when he didn’t exactly know what he was looking at? “You can… see me?”

“Not always. But I’ve always known you’ve been there. It’s kind of hard to ignore a translucent floating person hugging you from behind.” At this, Dream does a double take in shock and sincere apologies are immediately falling from parted lips. Had he known, he would not have crossed any boundaries. It was bad enough that he followed the other’s footsteps constantly and lined his path with most likely unwarranted success. The warrior is quick to refute. “Not that I’m opposed to it, you know. It’s admittedly quite nice.”

“Still, I’m sorry. I can only imagine how uncomfortable the situation must’ve been.”

“A small price to pay for the victory of a thousand battles, if it were at all.” There’s unspoken gratitude that Dream appreciates but doesn’t know how to respond to, and thankfully a lighthearted tone laces the man’s sarcastic words as he bends into a mockery of a bow. “Now would you kindly let me reimburse you further?”

Dream has the gall to snicker childishly and roll his eyes at the stupidity of the situation. Before long, he’s scooting closer and turning around so that his back is completely exposed. He forces his doubts down because there’s absolutely no reason for the other to attack him right now. A tense silence befalls them and it’s not hard to see why.

His entire backside had been sliced open, ichor flowing out like a sparkling golden river. It taints the mortal realm when it slides down blades of grass like dewdrops made of stars, and it’s like the heavens weep at the harm brought to its child. Pain was never supposed to be a beauty, but the image right there proves otherwise. Why did gods exsanguinate like so? Why was the sight so hauntingly alluring and yet irrevocably wrong? Why did the ultimate sign of danger draw your eyes to it and refuse to let them look away?

“You didn’t have to take the hit for me, you know.” It’s light and tentative and it feels like the sentiment is meant to worry rather than admonish. The implications of such make a pleasant feeling twist Dream’s gut, somehow.

“I know.”

“I would’ve lived, really. If it did reach me, it would’ve been a shallow cut.”

“I know.”

“And yet, you─”

“You are a mortal, and I a god.” Dream’s voice is firm and commanding and it’s then that they remember that while the warrior is of twenty-one years of age, the young god is of twenty-one decades. “You are human, and under trauma you will scar, disfigure and discolor; the evidence of the worst will barely fade over the span of your lifetime. I am a deity, and even with a thousand wounds I will not crumble; I have centuries to heal and a body that allows no blemish to persist. You, however, do not.”

_I don’t want you to be marked with the throes of combat that has bound us so._ It remains unsaid. _I want you to be marked with Euphrosyne’s gift, to bask in a joy that comes not from endless victories in war. I want you to burn of love instead of Greek fire, to bleed of compassion instead of crimson._

For once in his decidedly long life, he manages to fully relax in someone else’s care. The man had begun to apply pressure in an attempt to stop the bleeding, and while Dream’s body is tense as he hisses at the foreign sensation, his mind is not. He feels like an equal to this man in the way he wasn't immediately showered in offerings and prayers. He loves it, he loves the feeling of being able to let his guard down not only physically but also mentally. There’s suddenly air in his lungs as he breathes in the freedom of the loosened shackles of others’ expectations. There’s no need for him to slip on a façade anymore, and it’s exhilarating. Now that he’s found reprieve, he doesn’t want to lose it.

Thankfully, this isn’t the last time Dream will talk to Techno.

Far from that, actually. He’s started to make time to stick around for his warrior, eagerness concealed with the excuse of tending to the unreachable wounds and minuscule scrapes the other man never seems to care for when he finds he can’t do it on his own. They bask in the afterglow of combat, breathing in the metallic air and looking up at the setting sun in the sky whose scarlet seems to bleed into the ever-growing graveyard of the earth. The conversation comes as easily as the tides turning in their favor when their powers are used in tandem, and it is then that Dream manages to quench his thirst for knowledge.

Dream learns of his warrior’s name this time, not his title. He learns of the way _“Technoblade”_ rolls off his tongue just right, of how pleasant to the ears the nickname _“Techno”_ sounds. He learns of how he has little habits he didn’t know about: like making his way back home with a bounce in his step after every fateful encounter, like scribbling the name on the margins of parchment as he thinks of its owner. He learns of how his mind wanders to Techno so very often without fail, how he can’t seem to stop himself from plucking a flower _(He said this was his favorite kind, and this one’s color is so vibrant too.)_ or borrowing a book _(I think he would like this; he’s always been more interested in this genre.)_ or grabbing just a little extra food _(He said he’s never heard of this dish before, I have to let him try some.)_.

He learns of the pretty face under the pig skull cover. He learns of soft pink hair delicately framing defined cheekbones and chiseled jawlines, of delicate touches careful not to hurt from hands calloused and marred from years of harsh training. He learns of sharp canines molded into a gentle smile, seemingly almost shy when the young god’s eyes are fixated on it. He learns of how the moonlight has favorites in the way it basks Techno in an ethereal glow, the silver tracing the contours of his features the same way Dream wants to. He learns of how quickly he can memorize people’s faces, how he can lie awake at night with the vivid image of Techno’s candid expressions burned into the back of his eyelids. He learns he can count eyelashes and remember the exact position of every scar no matter how tiny.

He learns of the discomfiture beneath the veil of confidence. He learns of the awkwardness in speaking despite the magniloquence in writing, of strong familial bonds despite the independence of a lone wolf. He learns of fragile emotions within walls of hardened apathy, of concealed tears and controlled rage despite the stoic front put up to face the world in all its cruelty. Dream learns of empathy and how it’s a double-edged sword, of how it can both tug at your heartstrings tenderly or harshly. He learns of the bitter taste that fills his mouth when he finds Techno breaking down into little more than a curled-up ball wracked with trembles, of how the sight rips his heart to match the tattered pieces of his warrior’s sanity. He learns of how the butterflies in his stomach flutter when Techno laughs with little care in the world, of how his chest fills with warmth when Techno partakes in the mundane joys of the world around him with a wide smile.

The precious treasure of gaiety looks the prettiest when it’s with Techno.

Dream learns that Techno is a conundrum in and of itself, and he only gets more enthralled as for the first time his fingers itch for something other than to grace the adept with what they deserve. For the first time, they itch to put together the puzzle pieces of such an enigma. And so, he lets them.

He stops staying behind with half-baked lies of nonexistent injuries and instead with the untarnished truth of how he just wants to be with Techno. It doesn’t really change much honestly, maybe because he had never really asked Dream for his reasons. They still talk like before, they still explore the world around them like before, except now they rarely part ways. There’s solidarity in the way they always walk the same gravel path to Techno’s home, the way they silently wipe away vermilion from the used weapons, the way they need no words when preparing a meal together, and the way they end up sitting outside during summer nights to stare up at the boundless void littered with twinkling freckles.

Time passes them by and it feels like nothing. Spring is kind and brings with it the blooming nature they love so, and they spend the middays exploring vast forests and inhaling the scents of flower fields. Crops are bountiful during harvest, and for once Notus has mercy on them. The summer sun bears witness to many festivals, and watches as they both sneak away to watch the celebrations from afar. Oranges melt into blues, and autumn’s arrival marks the bittersweet beginning of decay. Trees succumb to the cycle of life and plants wilt at their feet as they crush fallen leaves in a playful game of chase.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Boreas visits them and decorates the land with trinkets of ivory, and before long snow paints the ground silver and their cheeks rogue. Winter is cruel and brings death where it goes, preparing the world for a fresh start and a new year. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when they seek a comfortable temperature, when they slowly inch closer together. Hands wander and fingers leave goosebumps on heated skin, legs tangle and pleased sighs are elicited when they’ve finally found the fire in midst of brutal coldness. Perhaps it’s him longing for a companion to his otherwise lonely life, perhaps it’s a growing fondness, perhaps it’s blossoming lavenders, perhaps he isn’t quite sure anymore.

He isn’t quite sure, but it’s more than okay. Dream feels the prettiest when he’s held by Techno.

-

  
  


  
_This isn’t the first time Dream has seen Techno._

He’s never quite forgotten how stunning he had looked when he first saw him. He had donned shoulder-length pink hair tied into a low ponytail, face obscured by a rather intimidating pig skull mask, garments fit for a king and cape dyed the deep color of blood. He was feral and unhinged and it reflected in how merciless he was on the battlefield. He was emotional and explosive _(in more ways than one)_ , he was stubborn and fixated on his goals to a point where sometimes Dream had to physically force him to take a break. Over time, he had changed of course.

His hair had been grown out and tied into a long, loose braid. His mask had been left on his bedroom shelf, revealing pale skin now lined with a few more scars. His extravagant attire had been traded out for a simple cotton shirt and pants. He had spent more days thinking than not, contemplating things that only he himself would know. He had mellowed out, and the beast inside him was tamed and had only grown weary of constant conflict. Dream would know this better than anyone else, he’s been there for all four years and had watched the growth with his very eyes.

_It’s the first time, however, that Dream has seen him so relaxed._

Techno’s hands hold a basket full of potatoes instead of the hilt of a sword, and he’s sprinkling water onto the ground instead of spilling blood on it. He tramples weeds instead of corpses, and wields spades instead of axes. He smiles for something other than victory, and he wakes up to something other than the trumpets of war. He uses his strength to create instead of destroy, and he uses his time to nurture instead of harm. He’s finally found a place for himself outside of the front lines of the army, and that place just so happened to be in a cottage in a clearing and the crevices of Dream’s heart.

He’s so very beautiful like this, Dream thinks.

It’s not like he wasn’t beautiful before. There’s a reason his eyes linger, there’s a reason his throat dries whenever they find themselves taking their shirts off to beat the heat. There’s a reason his breath hitches, there’s a reason his cheeks flush whenever they find themselves sharing body warmth to fight the cold. There’s a reason he’s frozen in place right now, stopping in his tracks to drink in the sight in front of him.

He loves how the bleak gravel path was lined with flowers leading into the meadow with the humble abode. He loves the new decorations making the house feel more like a home, he loves how their hands are stained with multicolor paint instead of crimson. The flowing river is no longer holds the remnants of murder to be washed away into the sea. The large area of land is tilled and it feels a little less empty with the mini forest they’re currently growing. The former foreboding silence is filled constantly by horses neighing and cows mooing and he ends up loving it anyway. The setting sun casts upon them an orange glow, and it makes everything look just so much more welcoming.

He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the exact date the change happened. It was a gradual process, like how they slowly got closer over the years. They had never left each other’s sides in the heat of battle, so it only made sense they stayed together outside of it as well. All he knows is that time had softened their cold hearts and chipped away at their walls to bring them to where they are right now.

“Techno.” Dream finally greets, and the other turns to face him.

“Dream?” In a split second, Techno drops all that he’s holding and runs to lift him off the ground and spin him around. He initially shrieks in surprise, but soon enough he finds himself laughing with the other. He could fly before, yes, but right now he feels like he’s at the top of the world. “You’re here!”

“Yeah.” He can’t suppress the grin that breaks out on his own face, not that he wants to anyway. He’s delighted, almost unbearably so. When had reunions become so sweet, so saccharine? Was it because he had become sentimental? “Yeah, I am.”

“For good?” There’s a strange sense of vulnerability to the question, to the way Techno’s grip tightens ever so slightly and refuses to meet his eyes. He knows exactly what lies beneath the surface, what parts of the iceberg Poseidon hides with his waters. They’ve had similar discussions more times than he can count.

_You’ve left Olympus, for me? You’re staying here, for me? You gave up a life of splendor, of grandeur and endless pleasure for someone like me?_ It speaks like whispers of a deeper insecurity, like snippets of nightmares revealed by Hypnos’ embrace. _You are a god with the power to change everything I’ve ever known. I am a mere human._ _I am broken and bruised; I am fickle and fragile. I am but a collection of ugly scars and peeling burns. I have become everything you advocated against in the beginning, yet you are still here._

_I left behind a world I didn’t care about to stay in one I loved. I am a god with the power to change my own fate, to make my own decision. You are human, and you are healing._ He reassures quietly; he speaks in hushed tones to calm the brewing storm and tame the restless beast once more. _You are human, and when you get beaten down you get back up no matter how hard it takes. You are strong and resilient; you are unwavering and enduring. You are beautiful, you are worth more than cities of gold and pillars of marble. You have become everything beyond my expectations, and I am nothing but proud._

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way, you know.”

_This isn’t the first time Dream talks to Techno._

He’s never quite forgotten how endearing he had been when he first talked to him. Techno had been shy and tentative. He had been cautious and reserved, like he was never quite sure of what he was saying. He could never really meet Dream’s emerald eyes and always found something to fiddle with in his nervousness. He was distant and aloof in his fear of messing up, and Dream had simply coaxed him out of his shell and encouraged him through every step of the way. He stumbled over his words and was rather awkward most of the time, and Dream had simply remained as patient as he could be. Over time, he had changed of course.

He had grown more comfortable and confident. He had begun to use his extensive vocabulary and eloquence in speaking, and more often than not it had left Dream more flustered than he’d like to admit. He started initiating conversations more, and his sentences had only grown longer over time. He had become at ease when it came to social interaction, and he had become unafraid when it came to most confrontations. Dream would know this better than anyone else, he’s been there for all four years and had watched the growth with his very eyes.

_It’s the first time, however, that Dream had heard him so fond._

“You’re here.” Techno breathes out. It’s simple and grounding. It sounds like he’s saying it to himself but with how close in proximity they are, Dream hears every single word. “You’re here, for good.” He repeats it like he’s trying to make himself believe it. It’s cute, Dream thinks before he can chase the thought away.

“That I am, yes. I could be in other places too, like─” Techno rolls his eyes at that before he can finish and promptly drops him with no remorse, eliciting a small yelp from Dream when he finds himself on the floor. How rude. “Hey!”

“I cannot believe you are ten times older than me when you’re so immature.” He gives a scathing look and Dream has the audacity to stick his tongue out mockingly if only to prove his point. “Sexual humor is so crass and inelegant.”

“Well, one of us has to loosen up. And by the looks of it, you aren’t going to.”

“I’d loosen up a lot more if you didn’t stress me out all the time.”

“You wound me, Techno.” Ever the dramatic playwright wannabe, he clasps one hand over the middle of his chest and tugs at the fabric. It’s honestly ridiculous, but the other doesn’t make a move to stop him so he carries on the show. “You’ve injured me so, right here. I can feel myself wasting away.”

“Shall I feed you more vegetables to cure your heart disease then?” Dream pales rapidly, paralyzed at the thought of such. Oh, how he loathed them. It doesn’t really help to disprove that he’s the petulant child Techno thinks he is, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Or will you actually help me move the furniture into your room?”

“Anything but the first one, thanks!” He beelines into the house and Techno’s laughter fades into the distance. He doesn’t have the heart to silence it, so he looks for the assorted pieces of furniture to be moved into what would soon be his room. Thankfully, the other joins him soon enough to speed up the process.

“You are so easy to sway.” Techno says later when they’ve finished the brunt of the work, sitting down on the mattress next to a sprawled out and thoroughly exhausted Dream. The stark difference of their physical prowess is clear in how Techno has barely broken a sweat when Dream’s limbs are sore. He absentmindedly braids his own hair as surveys the room and hums approvingly.

It’s nothing special, really. There’s a window with covers that let the last remaining remnants of sunlight shine through and illuminate the hardwood floor and mahogany door. On one side of the room, there’s a bed and a closet to be filled with garments old and new once they had gone around to unpacking. On the other, there’s miscellaneous pieces to be personalized so the room truly feels like it’s Dream’s. That comes with time, but thankfully they have quite a lot of that.

“You just drive a hard bargain.” Dream whines in complaint, gesturing wildly to his surroundings. It’s humble and homey, with several bookcases and a wide desk that he’s sure to appreciate when he isn’t so worn out. “Like, seriously, can you believe the amount of chores I’m meant to do just to live here? You’re just using me, I swear. Free labor and all that shit.”

“The chores are literally split between us, exactly in half. We both counted and you even agreed beforehand.” Techno’s right and Dream can’t refute that, so he grumbles instead. How childish, and therefore fitting. “I do have one extra chore though.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Taking care of you.” Techno snickers teasingly with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You big baby.”

“You asshole!” Dream shrieks in faux anger, laughing along. “I can take care of myself perfectly fine!”

In retaliation, he tackles Techno’s side and receives a satisfying noise of surprise. The sheets get messed up as they wrestle, but they’re having too much fun to be regretful. Dream thankfully has the element of surprise so he’s slowly winning, pushing them both down with him on top for once. His hand grazes the other’s side, and a small squeak can be heard. They both freeze abruptly as Techno scrambles to salvage his dignity and Dream tries to process the situation at hand.

_Oh. Ticklish, huh?_

“Techno.” A singsong tone.

“Stop.” A deadpan command.

“Are you…?”

“Silence.” Techno’s look is intimidating and Dream would be terrified if he weren’t used to it. It also doesn’t help that Dream can tell he’s so very obviously embarrassed by this turn of events. “Not a single word.”

“I wouldn’t say a thing.” Dream puts on a cheeky smile and that earns him a pointed glare. That smile has earned him forgiveness in the past, so he hopes it’ll be the same for the future. “I would, however, imply things. Many things.”

“Stop making fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You were going to.”

“Perhaps.”

“You always do.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so fun to mess with.” Dream’s lips curl up into his signature catlike smile, and Techno only scoffs. It’s practically laughable how much they’ve had this exact exchange and still never get tired of it. Techno slips up, Dream makes fun of him, they argue and it only ends with a tired groan or defeated sigh as the latter is let off the hook.

Except this time, Techno changes things up. He’s always been competitive, and old habits die hard.

“Is it so fun when I mess with you back?” Techno flips them over swiftly before Dream can fight back, and _oh._

Long pink hair falls all around them and frames the image of Techno pinning Dream to the mattress, hovering over him. Dream can’t stop himself from staring at the carmine blush that travels down the exposed skin of the other’s neck, shirt tousled significantly from their playfighting earlier. His words are caught in his throat as he feels one strong hand holding both of his wrists together and another playing with his hair while cushioning his head from the initial impact, effectively trapping him in place. He’s rendered speechless, and he’s thankful Techno fills the silence if only to rub salt in the metaphorical wound.

“See?” His breath is hot on Dream’s skin, warming him up like the flame of the hearth and the blood that rapidly rushes to his cheeks. The burn is almost painful, almost delicious. “Not so fun now, is it?”

_This isn’t the first time they find each other like this._

It’s funny because it’s true. They’ve been in this position more times than they can count, not quite literally but more in the sentiment of things. Dream can’t count how many times familiar arms had snaked around his waist from behind or how many times he buried his face into the crook of Techno’s neck. He can’t count how many times they had held each other or pinned each other down either in cuddling or roughhousing. He can’t count how many times they had come so close, their breaths tangible on each other’s lips and eyes wandering unabashedly. He also can’t count how many times they’ve backed off, awkwardly attempting to diffuse the palpable tension in the air in fear of what’s to come next.

Except this time, Dream takes the bait. He’s always gambled against fate, and old habits die hard.

“I don’t think you’re just messing with me.” He speaks up, smug. This is new territory but he’d be damned if he didn’t go into it pretending like he knew it like the back of his hand. Pride can do wonders, it seems. “I think you’re being genuine.”

“You think?” Techno scoffs but he sports a matching grin and loosens the grip on his wrists to intertwine their fingers instead. It makes Dream’s heart race far more than he’d like to admit. He’s glad he took the leap of faith if this is where it brought them. “I’d have thought that you, of all people, would have figured it out by now.”

“You can’t exactly fault me for that. It’s kind of hard to analyze you without being too hopeful. It’s my first time liking someone, okay?” The confession is quiet, soft, and it paralyzes them like the sparks they feel when Dream’s hand comes up to tangle in Techno’s hair in a familiar, grounding gesture. The air is quiet and charged with an unnamed tension.

“Me too.” Dream doesn’t miss the way Techno’s eyes briefly glance at his lips, nor the way a hand comes up to brush his bangs to the sides of his face. He’s sure Techno doesn’t miss the way he leans into the touch and licks his lips in anticipation. “God, me too. Can I…?”

“Yes.” He blurts out far too fast, but he’s too giddy to care. Why would he, when he’s about to be kissed senseless? “Please.”

The courtesy is a silly afterthought and it makes Techno chuckle before he’s finally diving in and closing the distance between them. It’s exhilarating and euphoric and oh so lovely, Dream thinks as he happily wraps his arms around his neck and deepens the kiss.

_It’s the first time, however, that Dream realizes he’s in love._

-

_“Do you regret it?” Techno asks one night, when they’re tangled together in an embrace and drifting off into a land of slumber together._

_Dream thinks of the beautiful gardens of Olympus, and finds that he prefers their mismatched fields of crops and flowers. He thinks of cities of gold and pillars of marble, and finds that he prefers their sturdy wooden walls and thatch roofs. He thinks of unicorns and harpies, and finds that he prefers their rowdy horses and pigeons. He thinks of the curt greetings the other deities give him as they pass each other in hallways, and finds that he prefers the warm and welcoming hugs humans give when they meet. He thinks of grand libraries and how he sat alone in them, and finds that he prefers smaller bookcases and lazy afternoons with Techno reading over his shoulder. He thinks of training sessions and strict teachers, and finds that he prefers incessant banter and exasperated fondness._

_“No, I don’t regret it.” He mumbles back with the most certainty he’s ever had in his life._

_Dream thinks of what the future holds for them. He thinks of how tomorrow he will wake up to a gentle smile and messy pink hair, and how he will be smothered in kisses until the sun is high up in the sky. He thinks of how he will be carried out of bed despite numerous protests, and how his ears will only be blessed with the sweetest laughter. He thinks of how he will make his own breakfast this time, how he will tend to his own abode and serve himself instead of waiting for the servants to do it for him. He thinks of how his hands will be used for more than just passing on power, for more than just giving away his gift. He thinks of how they will be used to grab the salmon out of the river, to tend to the crops and brush down horse manes._

_More importantly, Dream thinks of how his hands will be used to cup Techno’s cheeks, and how his lips will be used to press against another pair. He thinks of how his gold tipped fingers will be used to thread through locks of pink hair, and how his tongue will be used to lick wet stripes up a neck, and how his teeth will be used to mark his love over fading scars and paint his passion in the prettier shades of vermilion._

_“And I don’t think I ever will.”_

**Author's Note:**

> hehe it's my first time writing and the work is titled first times. hhh this could be better but i just decided fuck it. it really wasn't supposed to be this long honestly, it was just one line for a drabble of dream coming across techno farming and oh dear now they have a history and oh look dream is now a god and oh dream has a backstory and i just... yeah. i can only hope this turns out well
> 
> yeah there's a lot of literary gimmicks and devices i'm sure you've noticed. theres repeating lines and more and i'd like to show you my favorites so far :D
> 
> 1\. "The golden blessing of victory looks like it’s right at home when it sinks into his being." and "Dream feels at home right where he is." along with "The precious treasure of gaiety looks the prettiest when it’s with Techno." and "Dream feels the prettiest when he’s held by Techno."  
> yes in this i'm calling dream a blessing and a treasure
> 
> 2\. "... perhaps it’s blossoming lavenders..."  
> lavenders are an allusion to the lgbt community :D
> 
> 3\. in the third segment right after techno asks "for good?" there's a large area of text in italics that seems to be a conversation between the two of them. i'd just like to point out the parallels in their statements, the way dream humanizes himself when he says his power is for changing his own fate and how he takes techno's self deprecating words and calls him the opposite (ex. fickle, fragile and ugly to unwavering, enduring and beautiful)
> 
> thanks for reading, and you'll probably see me around a lot more soon so drop your ideas if you have any :DD


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